The Case of John Watson's Disappearing Bed
by writing bird
Summary: John's bed has disappeared mysteriously.  What could Sherlock have to do with this, and where will John sleep now?  Johnlock slash


This is based on a wonderful RP I had once... You can see the original conversation at **limegreensushi. tumblr. Com /post/ 19283143533/ probably-the-best-rp-ive-ever-had-in-my-life**

John Watson was exhausted. A flu of some sort had been going around, and the surgery had busier than he'd ever seen it before. All he wanted to do was get home, eat something, and then go to bed. He could only hope that Sherlock wouldn't start playing the violin right as he fell asleep, and that there would be something edible in the fridge.

He finally reached 221B and climbed upstairs. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, staring off into space like he usually did.

"Hi, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't move.

John walked past him into the kitchen. He was amazed to find that there was some leftover take-out Chinese food in the refrigerator.

As the food is warming up, he dug around the fridge (past something that looked suspiciously like a liver) and found a six-pack of beer. Uncapping one bottle, he took a long swig.

After he was finished his dinner, he went up to the bathroom to take a quick shower. As he stepped into his room to get his towel, he stopped cold. Something was missing. Something very important was missing.

"Sherlock!" He yelled.

He ran back downstairs. "Sherlock, what happened to my bed?"

Sherlock looked up. "It looked perfectly fine to me."

"But where the hell is my bed?"

Something that looked suspiciously like a smile touches Sherlock's lips. "Well," he muttered, "That's where things get interesting."

"Interesting?" John was suddenly afraid of the reply.

"Interesting."

"How?"

"I lost it."

John was astounded. "How do you lose a bed?"

Sherlock frowned. "I'm still trying to figure that out. It was fine one moment, then, the next..."

"Gone?"

"Gone!"

John merely stared at Sherlock, who looked back at him with wide eyes. "What were you even doing with my bed?"

Sherlock's eyes dropped to the rug. "Nothing in particular."

John looked at Sherlock until Sherlock finally met his gaze. "Sherlock..."

"Yes, John?"

"What were you doing with my bed? To my bed?"

"Definitely not in your bed, either," Sherlock murmured.

"Why were you in my bed?" John began to lose his temper. Why couldn't Sherlock just tell him things the way they were?

"Because beds are made to be in?" Sherlock replied, "Come now, John, I thought you could work that out."

John scoffed. "You have your own bed. Why were you in mine?"

"I was testing it."

John stared at Sherlock with an unreadable expression. "For what?"

Sherlock's eyes opened wider yet. "For comfort, of course! In fact, I think your bed is a bit more firm than mine."

"Why would you even care? It's not as if I've ever complained about my bed," John pointed out. "It isn't as though you're the one sleeping in it."

"Well, I just had to know. I needed to be in your shoes… Well, bed, in this case."

This came as no surprise to John. He'd gotten used to Sherlock's ways long before. However, he couldn't figure out how Sherlock testing out his bed had led to the bed mysteriously being gone.

"And what happened? It disappeared?"

Sherlock sighed. "Well, since I've told you everything else, I guess I must tell you the truth. John, I just saved your life."

John just raised an eyebrow. "How exactly?"

"That bed was bound to kill you someday! You should be thanking me." Sherlock replied, as though it was the most obvious answer.

"Why would my bed kill me, Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock just stared at John as though the answer was obvious.

John shook his head in wonder at the odd brain of his flatmate.

"My bed, however, is quite safe," Sherlock added after a pause.

"What? Well, good for you. But where am I supposed to sleep, then?"

Sherlock hadn't listened to what John had said. "I don't believe the couch is too safe, either. Things tend to disappear in it quite often."

"So where should I sleep, Sherlock? Get another flat? In my armchair? On the table?" John was beginning to lost his patience. He wanted to know what had happened to the bed, what Sherlock had done with it, and where he would sleep tonight.

"I suppose that, for your safety, I can allow you to use a portion of my bed."

John was shocked. Sherlock wanted him to share _his_ bed. "Sherlock, people will talk!"

"Only if you say something, John," Sherlock replied in a sardonic tone. "No one has spied on us in quite a while, so there would be no talk."

"So, you want me to sleep with you?"

"In a sense, yes."

John took a deep breath and looked away. "Great…" Sarcasm was pouring from his tone.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"It's been a long time since I shared a bed with a sociopath."

"So, I wouldn't be the first? I'm hurt, John!"

John frowned. "Am I the first… sane person to ever share your bed, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful. "Sane… well, yes, I suppose you are such. So, yes."

A topic suddenly jumped into John's mind, but he didn't quite know how to phrase it. "Am I… the first person to ever share your bed, period?"

Sherlock frowned at the carpet. "First that I wouldn't mind having in my bed, yes."

John sighed. He didn't think that Sherlock would understand his question without having it put bluntly. "Are you a virgin, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes finally met John's with an undecipherable expression.

"I— I mean, that wasn't an exaggeration?"

Sherlock looked surprised. "What a jump in topic, John. What interesting things are on your mind..."

"Just answer the question, Sherlock."

"The body is. The mind, however, races." Sherlock's voice was low, a bare vibration in the air.

John tried his best to ignore the hot flush in his nether regions. He swallowed. "Races with what?"

Sherlock's gray eyes turned black and gazed at John with intensity. "Wouldn't. You. Like. To. Know."

"I would, actually. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking."

Sherlock got up from his armchair and walked towards John. Their bodies were barely inches apart. "In that case, John, I'm glad I got rid of your bed," Sherlock whispered. "You wouldn't be needing it anyways."

John's breath caught. "Are you saying I should sleep with you?"

"It is a curious proposition. One that I wouldn't be adverse to." Sherlock's voice was going straight to his crotch.

"Sherlock, just come out and say it. No, wait, um, bad choice of words. Just, um, uh… Do you want to sleep with me?"

"I would like that very much, John Watson."

John's breathing turned into pants. He felt his trousers tighten. Sherlock reached out a hand to him, running it from John's wounded shoulder to his wrist. His long fingers wrapped around John's wrist before moving down to tangle their fingers together, holding John's hand in a soft but firm grip.

John's breath rushed out of his mouth at the touch. "Sherlock," he whispered. I've never been with a man, and neither have you."

Sherlock's lips twisted into a smile. "Like I said before," he murmured, "the mind races."

"I, uh, how? I mean, I've no idea what it's like. How it feels."

Sherlock smiled at John as his fingers caressed his hand. John had only seen this look a few times in their life together. It was a look that promised to do anything in his power to protect him, and a look of pure trust. "How about you go to the grocery store, get some milk, and I'll have the mechanics figured out?" After a pause, he added, "And buy a scented candle. For ambiance."

"What? Just like that? I don't get a say in this? I'm going to be involved, too, Sherlock. You'll have to talk me through your plans, Sherlock. This is not something I'll just jump into blindly."

Sherlock grinned. "But that would make such a wonderful play on words if you did!"

John was about to reply, but then he thought about it again. "God, Sherlock," he said, taking a deep breath, "you know what? I'll just go get the things you said." After a pause, he added "Won't we be needing anything else? Like, maybe, lubricant?"

John felt an arm grasp his shoulder as he turned around. Sherlock's eyes had the softest expression John had ever seen. He felt as though he could look into Sherlock's eyes and see into his mind (which would be a frightening thought). It almost looked as though Sherlock was trying to prove something, prove to John that this was more than just sex, but rather something much more important. Something that meant much more than that.

"John, do you trust me?" Sherlock asked in a barely audible whisper.

John looked at him as though the answer was obvious. "I do trust you, Sherlock. Even if it's almost gotten me killed sometimes. I've always trusted you."

"Then everything will be fine, John. I promise." Sherlock's hand cupped John's cheek. He cleared his throat, "and, yes. Do get some lubricant. Just make sure not to get into a fight with the register again."

John smiled. In a quiet voice, he replied, "I'll try not to."

John disentangled himself from John's arms. Just as he was about to reach the door, something came to mind. "Wait, Sherlock. I deserve a kiss for going out in this weather to get groceries, don't I?"

"I can oblige that."

Sherlock takes John into his arms once more and brushes his lips against the other man's. Softly, he deepens the kiss, taking John's lower lip between his own. Sherlock's tongue barely brushes John's lips before John throws himself into the kiss, arching his back and knotting his fingers into Sherlock's curls. Just as John moans, Sherlock pulls away as though he'd been shocked.

"You've to go."

"Yeah. I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting."

The second that John left, Sherlock's mind (and heart) began to race. His mouth was going dry, but he couldn't figure out why. It was only sex. People had sex all the time. But he'd never had sex before. He had no idea what to expect, what to do. Sure, he'd seen many different kinds of pornography. But in those videos, he had never seen the emotional aspect of sex. He'd never been prepared for the onslaught of feelings and emotions that came with knowing what would be happening in half an hour, when John got back. John… Sherlock couldn't fathom how one man could make him feel like this. Sexual attraction was something completely foreign to him… How could one man have so much power over Sherlock?

John, on the other hand, did not doubt a single thing. In fact, the second that he left 221B, he practically ran to the store to get the… supplies. The second he reached the store, he went straight to the family planning aisle. But then… He'd only ever been with women in his life. He had no idea what sex with a man would be like. Would he need the same kind of condoms? What about lubricant? What kind was better?

Oh, well, he thought. Better safe than sorry.

Taking his grocery basket on one hand, he began to put various different kinds of items into the basket. After having almost a basket full of protective and preventive supplies, he began to walk towards the cash. He could only hope that the chip and pin machine worked this time. He hoped that he wouldn't need to call assistance for this.

Stopping by the dairy aisle, he grabbed a bottle of milk, like he'd promised Sherlock he would do.

Walking towards an empty check out machine, he began to scan all the items. His heart was beating rapidly. God, he hoped that he wouldn't run into trouble… that everything would scan okay.

As he was halfway done scanning all his items, he felt a presence behind him. Turning around, he looked at the person standing behind him. The man behind him smiled.

"Hey there."

John was mortified. "Hi."

"Looks like you'll be having some fun tonight."

"Um."

"Need any help with that?"

"No, thank you." No, thank you? No, thank you? What kind of answer was that? He should have told him to fuck off, or to go jump off a cliff.

"Pity. I could have given you a hand, if you get my drift."

"Uh, yeah. No. Not interested."

John turned back to the chip and pin machine and attempted to scan everything as quickly as possible to get out of there. The second everything was in the bag, he jogged to the door and went back home.

When John got back, Sherlock was sitting on his chair, with his hands clasped under his chin.

"I wasn't sure what kind to get, so I got quite a few different ones," John said, and handed the bag over to Sherlock.

"John. Wait."

"What is it?"

"We need to talk."

Sherlock took John's hand and led him to the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and John followed suit.

John looked at Sherlock expectantly, but Sherlock said nothing.

"Sherlock, what do you want to talk about?"

"Would you just... hold on?"

"What?"

"It's just... I guess that what I'm trying to say is, could we go slower?"

John smiled. Sherlock was nervous about doing this, maybe he just wasn't ready. John could live with that. "Of course. What do you want to do instead?"

Sherlock lay down and pulled John along with him. "This is good," he said as he wrapped his arms around the shorter man's frame. He elongated his neck and tucked John's head under his chin, enjoying the way his hair tickled.

"It _is_ good. Could I just ask for one favour, though, Sherlock?"

"What is it?"

"Can I get a kiss?"

"Of course."

Their lips meet, and they both take their time exploring each other's mouths. They are no longer consumed by lust; they have the rest of their lives to make love. For now, they are both perfectly content to just kiss and feel.

Sherlock sighs as John pulls away.

"You know, Sherlock, you were the one who wanted me in your bed initially."

Sherlock grinned. "And clearly my plan worked."

"Yes," John replied, "but eventually you will have to go all the way with your plan."

"I intend to. Just give me some time."

"Of course, Sherlock. It doesn't have to be now. Not today, or even soon. But I do want to do this. I really do." John's voice was quiet in the silence of the room.

"Me too," Sherlock said. After a pause, he added, "and, in the meantime, no. You do not get your bed back."

John grinned. "I wasn't planning on asking for it. What happened to it, anyways?"

Sherlock chuckled. "I suppose that Anderson will stumble upon it if he ever goes into his backyard."

John pulled away from Sherlock. "How did you get my bed to Anderson's backyard?" he yelled. "Oh, god. Please, don't tell me that Mycroft had anything to do with this..."

"No, no. Nothing like that. Let's just say that Mrs. Hudson is capable of many wonderful things."

"Mrs. Hudson was in on your plan?"

"All I told her was that I was getting you a new bed. Which was true, in a way."

"Well, then," John said, contemplating the situation, "remind me to get her something nice."

Sherlock laughed. "You can give her the dish soap you brought with the lubricant."

"What? I did?"

Sherlock's fingers tangled into John's hair. "You must have been very flustered to make that blunder," he muttered.

John grinned. "It's all your fault, you gorgeous man."

"I can live with that."

John nestled himself closer to Sherlock's body. Burrowing himself under the blankets of Sherlock's bed, he tangled his legs around the other man. He hadn't taken a shower, but he was absolutely exhausted and Sherlock's bed was warm and comfortable. In fact, Sherlock was right. The bed was much less firm than his old bed. Closing his eyes, John pressed his body closer to the detective's, settling down next to Sherlock for what would hopefully be the first night of the rest of their lives.


End file.
